A Rose's Thorn
by miss scheherazade
Summary: Rose hadn't intended to keep the injured vampire. It just sort of... happened. Takes place immediately after Dead Things, distant future post-Journey's End. Rose/Spike. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

**A Rose's Thorn**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy or Dr. Who. **

ooo

When Buffy leaves, Spike stays sprawled out across the dirt of the alley. The glow of the moon shines in his eyes, but he's too tired to move—settles for wishing it were sunlight instead. _It'd be better for everyone, _he thinks, _if I were dust. _

It would also hurt less.

He's used to physical pain. Angelus was a master at torture, and Glory had been rather creative as well. The first weeks with the chip were their own form of painful, as was Dru leaving and Buffy dying.

This is different. Spike supposes he'd been holding out hope that Buffy really _did _care for him, that she loved him but couldn't admit it. But no one would do something like this to someone they loved.

She hadn't been lying when she called him a disgusting, soulless thing. A thing that couldn't feel.

_What is this, if it's not feeling? _

Spike shudders. It's as though his heart has been ripped out of his chest, and the empty space where it had been aches with hollowness. He _feels _useless—lonely and revolting and heartbroken.

_But it's not real. _

Tears well in his eyes. It's real enough to make him go impossibly cold. As though the human in him can't stay warm inside a corpse's skin.

Spike squeezes his eyes shut and lets consciousness float away.

He hopes that when morning comes, the sunlight will warm him.

ooo

His melodrama does not get him far. It's not the morning sun that wakes him, but a woman near Buffy's age. He jerks awake when warm fingers search his neck for a pulse, eyes flying open and instinctive panic taking over. Vulnerable humans get hospitals.

Vulnerable vampires get staked.

The girl does not hurt him. She leans back on her heels and stares at him for a long second, as though debating something internally. Spike watches her carefully. He's too weak to flee, doesn't have the energy to scare her off. He's torn between hoping she'll stake him and praying she'll leave him alone. He enjoys being undead, but his existence has become unpleasant enough that he won't mind if she ends him then and there.

He's shocked when the girl neither runs nor kills him.

"My home is nearby," she says, resting a gentle hand over a battered cheekbone. "D'you think you can walk a couple blocks?"

Spike merely nods. The girl smiles. It's a bright smile, the sort that makes him wonder if he won't dust from looking at it too long. He tries to remember the last time he's seen a smile so sweet. Can't recall any particular instance.

The expression sets him at ease, and when she tries to help him to his feet, he lets her. Standing is painful, but he manages. Has a more difficult time when forward movement is expected, but the girl is stronger than she looks. Without reservation, she throws one of his arms around her shoulder and tucks herself into his side like a crutch. It takes a few steps, but before long they're limping along at a decent pace.

"You're lucky you've got such bright hair," she says. Her grin goes bigger, and her tongue curls in her teeth. He likes curling his tongue in a similar manner, but he means the effect to be erotic. When she does it, there's nothing but playfulness and sunlight. "Wouldn't have seen you lyin' there otherwise."

"Good to know my hair doubles as a distress signal," Spike grunts.

As though taking his reply as an invitation, the girl looks at him with big hazel eyes and says, "I'm Rose Tyler."

She's friendly and helping him and she must know he isn't human, so he figures he can give her a name if nothing else. "Spike."

"Spike," she repeats, turning the word over in her mouth. "Suits you. You look like a Spike."

They continue forward in silence. Her heartbeat is strong and steady, her body warm against his side. She's got a soft feel about her too. Is wearing a fleece jacket and comfy-looking jeans and looks welcoming as can be. It's even in her eyes, the softness. The kindness.

Her capacity for goodness is tangible, which is a bit jarring seeing how he'd almost forgotten what goodness looks like. Buffy doesn't have it anymore, not soul-deep like she used to. The rest of the Scoobies are just as bad. Maybe even worse. But Rose Tyler is untainted by the Hellmouth. She's golden and beautiful and the William in him is tempted to ask if she's an angel.

Mercifully, before William can say anything of the sort, Rose slows and says, "Here we are." Spike starts to feel relief—relief that she'll help him now, that he'll get to pass out and stop feeling this awful pain in his heart, relief at all sorts of things—except then he sees where Rose has led him, and all he can be is confused.

She's stopped in front of a police box.

He hasn't seen one of those in a while, and certainly not in Sunnyhell. Isn't sure whether he should be more thrown off by its presence or by Rose's belief that it's her home. He settles on the latter—the fact that it's there isn't immediately concerning, but Rose thinking she's going to shove him inside is a bit worrisome.

"Pretty a thing as you are, I'm not interested in gettin' quite that personal with you at the mo'," says Spike slowly.

Rose laughs.

"Don't worry," she says. She uses a key on her neck to open the door—which is concerning too, because _why _would anyone be carrying a key to a police box?—and leads him through the door.

Spike has seen a lot of things in his life. Things that his human self never would have thought possible. Men on the moon and people flying in airplanes and all sorts of demons and monsters—scores of 'impossible' things.

He's still utterly certain he's hallucinating when his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and he takes in the room around him.

"I… I think I hit my head too hard," he says.

"Probably, but that doesn't mean you're not seeing straight," says Rose as she urges him further into the magnificent space. It's filled with coral struts and lights and wires and a lot of other things that don't belong in a police box. That _can't fit_ in a police box. He's either dreaming or crazy, and it's probably honestly the latter because he doesn't think a sane person would come up with something like this, not even in his dreams.

"It's bigger on the inside," Spike says.

"That it is," Rose blithely replies.

"But…"

"C'mon, Spike. The infirmary is this way."

He's dazed enough that he doesn't think to question the unlikelihood of an infirmary in a police box. Rather, he obediently follows Rose as she pulls him forward, too shocked and confused to manage any words at all. Before long, Rose has him lying on a soft bed and is poking and prodding at him, bandaging scrapes and resetting bones.

He's tired enough that he falls asleep before she's even halfway finished.

ooo

**Was it good? Bad? Please review. **


	2. Chapter 2

Rose takes her research to the infirmary while Spike recovers. Not because she's exceptionally worried about him—she knows about vampires, knows they'll survive anything so long as they aren't dust— but because he's a soulless demon and Rose isn't sure how he'll react once he wakes up. He's still got a ways to go before he's anywhere near a hundred-percent and his system is flooded with strong enough painkillers to keep him groggy, but he's certainly healed enough to at least attempt an attack. That in mind, Rose figures she has reason to be slightly concerned.

He'd been nice enough the night before, but that was when he'd needed help. Now, well… he's a vampire and she's sorta human, and there's really only one natural way for that to progress.

She sighs as she tinkers with the dimension cannon. Her first night in Sunnydale, and instead of killing the vampire on sight like common sense would dictate, she possibly saved the unlife of a creature who's supposedly nothing more than an unrepentant killer.

Oh, it would've been smarter to leave him in that alley. She's well aware that if he tries to hurt her and gets too wild to be reasoned with, she'll be forced to look him in the eye and dust him. But he'd been in pain, and what kind of person would she have been if she'd just _left _him there?

Yeah, she knows that he's supposedly a demon driving an empty shell but that hadn't made the idea of ignoring his pain any more palatable. She's always struggled with the concept of harming creatures without giving them a fair shot first. Even that Dalek in Utah, when she'd seen it kill and heard the Doctor's horror stories about its species, had seemed a victim in her eyes. Spike, with all his bruises and breaks, had looked even more so.

So she'd helped him.

That _doesn't _mean she's an idiot. When Rose sees Spike start shifting, she takes the sonic screwdriver from her belt and casually twists the setting to one that projects UV rays in an exact imitation of sunlight. Her heart stops and her gaze fixes on Spike's face, and then his eyes are opening and _god _he looks human. It's impossible to imagine that the awe and incredulity on his face as he examines the infirmary are the emotions of a heartless demon.

When he finally notices her, suspicion is added to the jumble of emotions playing across his features. He sits up straighter and puffs out his chest like he's trying to make himself look stronger, maybe more dangerous, but the bewildered confusion in his eyes more than ruins the effect. She imagines he'd normally control himself better than this, that he'd at least have the presence of mind not to look so lost, but the pain medication she'd given him is undoubtedly still in effect and his walls probably aren't as firmly in place as he'd like.

"I hadn't been hallucinating," he mutters, voice laced with disbelief. "Last night was real." Rose waits for that to sink in. Is surprised when instead of reacting with anger like a demon, or even disbelief like a man, his face crumples and what looks an awful lot like tears well in his eyes. "_Everything_ was real. Buffy…" he breathes, and the name sounds simultaneously like a curse and a prayer.

Rose lowers her screwdriver. She's still cautious, but she's also good enough at reading people to recognize that Spike is in no mindset to hurt her.

"Are you okay?"

"Don't know if you've noticed pet, but I'm a _vampire_," he spits, and if he weren't drugged enough to be slurring his words, he might almost sound threatening. "An unfeelin', undead thing. S'better if I'm not okay. Don't deserve to be okay."

Everything she's read about vampires is suddenly called into question. They aren't supposed to be able to feel, to hurt, to think of anything more than bloodlust and violence, but whatever is causing Spike pain is obviously much, much deeper than that. Rose can't even doubt that his pain is genuine; she isn't _blind, _and no one can fake the kind of emotion he's showing.

She knows next to nothing about Spike, but already she can tell that unfeeling is the very last word she would use to describe him.

"I'm in no position to tell you what you deserve, but… you don't sound unfeeling to me. You sound _hurt._" Impulsively she rests a hand on the left side of his unmoving chest. "Not outside, but _here_. And I don't think anyone who can feel so much pain in their heart can be _truly_ bad."

"I've killed people. Thousands of people."

Rose smiles sadly.

"I've killed too, Spike. Have taken more lives than I like to imagine. I like to think I had reason for it and I don't know if you can say the same, but I've been through enough to recognize that these sorta things aren't black and white."

For a long time they sit there, Rose staring at Spike and Spike staring right back. She isn't disconcerted by much anymore, not after everything she's seen, but his gaze makes her distinctly uncomfortable. She doesn't think she's seen eyes so blue since her first Doctor regenerated, and between their color and fiery intensity Rose is knocked thoroughly off kilter.

_No way those books were right. He's no more a feral demon than I am, _she can't help but think. _And certainly no less a man than any other I've met. __  
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"Not everyone thinks like that," mumbles Spike finally.

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong." She shrugs. "You haven't done anything too awful so far. Know that doesn't necessarily mean much, but what I've read on vampires says you should've tried to make a snack of me by now."

"Yeah, well. I'm not _able _to eat humans at the moment. A government organization shoved a piece of metal in my head. Keeps me from hurtin' people." He pauses, then goes on, almost fervently, like he knows Rose will listen and he wants _someone _to understand him, "But I wouldn't anyway. Even if the chip were taken out. I… the girl I love wouldn't like it, an' neither would her sister. I care for them too much to hurt 'em like that. Even if they were gone—if Buffy an' the Bit died—I don't think I could go back to what I had been. Maybe a spot of killin' now an' then, but never innocents. I know what it's like now, to see people I love gettin' threatened by demons who don't think twice about it, and I… I can _understand_. Don't need a soul to empathize."

"Spike-"

"I'm tellin' the _truth_," he says. "I… I can _feel. _I wouldn't make it up. I'm not… s'not my imagination, not what I _think _I'm feelin'. I love Buffy an' the Bit an' I can empathize an' _hurt." _He peers at her sadly. "Why can't they understand that I _hurt?" _

Rose takes her hand from his heart and tangles his fingers with her own. Spike peers at her, wide-eyed and vulnerable, and Rose honestly doesn't know how to answer him for a moment. Not because she can't find the words or organize her thoughts, but because she honestly _doesn't know_. It's obvious just by looking at him, and more so by hearing him speak, that the emotions he's displaying are painfully genuine. Maybe it'd be harder to see if he weren't fuzzy-headed from painkillers, but even normally she imagines something has to show. No one can hide _that _much.

The only way a person could write Spike off as unfeeling is if they didn't care enough to really see him in the first place.

"I dunno," Rose whispers gently. "I s'pose they just aren't looking."

"You don' know me."

"I do have eyes," says Rose.

That seems to calm him down, and he drifts back to sleep soon after. And it's stupid, oh Rose knows it's stupid, but she's tired from staying up to watch over the vampire and it isn't long before she lays down her head and finds herself falling asleep right next to him.

ooooo

When Rose wakes up again, Spike is gone. She panics for half a second before realizing that she isn't worried about what the vampire has gotten up to—beyond the fact that the TARDIS would fight back if he tried to vandalize it, she honestly doesn't think he'd harm her ship—but rather that she's concerned he might've left.

She takes a deep breath and concentrates for a moment on the presence of the TARDIS in the back of her head, only relaxing when the ship tells her he's still on board—that he's simply exploring.

Rose figures he'll find plenty of ways to entertain himself and uses the bit of privacy to retreat to her room and get cleaned up. Once she's showered and wearing fresh clothes, she lets the TARDIS lead her to Spike. She thinks she should be surprised that of all the places he could've found he's managed to stumble across the library, but he's already shocked her enough that she would've been more thrown off if he'd gone somewhere less unexpected.

He's browsing the bookshelves when she finds him, trailing a pale hand over the bindings with something almost like reverence. He whirls when he hears Rose's footsteps, panic and a bit of guilt on his face, but the tension in his shoulders and neck says she'll get as good as she gives if she tries to scold him.

She smiles slowly and deliberately, and isn't sure if she should feel guilty for enjoying how much the expression throws him off or satisfied at its obvious affect.

"Rather impressive, isn't it? There're a lot of libraries bigger, but besides one that's got every book ever written in it, this is probably the most diverse." She wanders a little closer to him. "Took a while to get this many, an' it's nowhere near done. But I'm happy with it as it is. Over ten million books from hundreds of planets, with publishing dates spread out over several billion years."

Spike shakes his head. The look in his eyes is one Rose remembers wearing almost constantly throughout her time with the Doctor—the one that says he's decided to quit disbelieving everything he sees or hears and instead plans to simply go along with it.

"Right then." He eyes her oddly. "I take it that means you're an alien."

"In a way," says Rose. She shrugs. "I'm from London. Was born in 1986. Thing is, that London was in a parallel universe. So I could be considered an alien, although I'm really technically not."

"Then where does the spaceship come in?"

"S'not a spaceship. She's a TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. A space-time ship. I got 'er from a real alien. She was just a baby then, but she's been full grown for a few decades now." She can tell he still has more questions, questions that are a bit prying and would take ages to answer anyway, so she turns his attention back to the collection of books instead. "I imagine you like readin' then, if you found your way here?"

He shoves his hands in the pocket of his duster and rolls his neck a bit.

"'ll pick up a book every now an' then, but 'm a bigger fan of vampire things. Y'know, causin' mayhem an' destruction. I'll read me some Stephen King, though. Thomas Harris. Blood an' gore. Cannibalism."

"Right."

"'m evil."

"Got that from the duster an' hair. Good guys don't wear black or bleach their hair. It's a rule."

"Damn straight."

He crosses his arms over his chest and glares in a manner that's supposed to be intimidating, before he seems to realize it's not doing much good and coughs awkwardly. He rolls up on the balls of his feet, then back on his heels, like he's not sure what to do with himself. Rose watches him for a moment, making sure he's through with his posturing, then says, "I'm a Dickens fan myself. Started reading his stuff after we fought ghosts together."

"You fought ghosts with bloody Charles Dickens?"

"A long time ago, yeah. On Christmas," says Rose.

"Now _this_ I've gotta hear about."

Rose hesitates a moment, but she does head over to one of the couches, gesturing for him to follow. He listens without question, plopping down on the far cushion and watching her expectantly, like a little kid waiting for his parents to tell him a bedtime story. Laughter sneaks into her voice as she begins to speak. "See, I used to travel with this alien called the Doctor. It was one of our firs' trips together, and he wanted to take me to Naples. Wound up in Cardiff instead, an'…"

She tells him about the Gelth and how they mislead the Doctor, and talks about the trick with the gas and then fills in all the little details in between. He's a good listener, asks interesting questions and doesn't let his attention wander. And when she's done, he doesn't even bother to hide his interest when he leans forward and asks, "D'you do that sort of thing often?"

"All the time," says Rose. "I haven't traveled with the Doctor for years, but I still go places—help people." She pauses for a second, thinking over the thing that's just occurred to her. There are probably reasons she shouldn't, reasons why it's foolish or wrong, but the amazement on Spike's face and her own loneliness won't let her dismiss the idea. With only a little wariness, she says, "I could take you somewhere so you could see. To another planet, or to any time or place in earth's past. Anywhere you'd like, from Ancient Rome to just before the end of the universe."

Spike's jaw drops and his eyes widen. He lets himself look excited, even thrilled for a moment, but then his expression falls and his gaze goes to his lap.

"Can't," he says. "I've got responsibilities. People who need me to take care of them."

_You mean people who hurt you? Who make you think so poorly of yourself? _

But Rose doesn't say that.

"It _is _a time machine. We could be gone a year an' come back an hour after you left. No one would have any idea you were gone in the first place."

There's a moment of indecision, and then Spike slowly nods.

"Alright then." He smiles roguishly, and it almost reaches his eyes. "Not like I've got anythin' better to do. Might as well take a trip."

Rose beams at him.

"Fantastic."

ooooo

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading and/or reviewing. Please tell me what you think; any feedback is welcomed. **


	3. Chapter 3

"We'll just roam the vortex a bit for now," says Rose as she starts out of the library. Spike follows, having extracted a promise of a tour and more interested than he's willing to admit at the prospect of seeing the rest of the TARDIS. "Maybe stop somewhere to get you blood. You need to rest a day or two before I take you anywhere exciting."

"S'not necessary. I'm good enough to go now if you want," Spike argues, no matter that he's already starting to limp just from wandering the TARDIS. At least everything that's happened has distracted him from thoughts of Buffy, which are infinitely more painful than a few bruised ribs and a twisted ankle.

He can't imagine how easy it would be to live like this—suspended outside of time, able to go anywhere in the universe while his problems are shoved off light years away, not to be revisited until absolutely necessary. He wants to go back to Buffy, but the desire to get lost in Rose Tyler's lifestyle is definitely there. Already, he's gotten the Slayer out of his head for longer than he's been able to in more than a year. Maybe with a bit of time he banish her from his system completely. Not that he's entirely certain he wants that no matter how awfully she's treated him, but even he can see that it's probably best for both of them. He's drowning in her, and not like he'd been the year before. Now it's a violent, dark sort of drowning that makes even the demon in him snarl with misery. Fucking, beating each other, making one another miserable.

He'd had a better relationship with Dru, and he isn't blind enough not to realize just how _sad _it is that he'd felt more cherished and cared for by an insane soulless demon than the Chosen One of the Powers The Be.

"We can wait," says Rose firmly. "Good enough and _good _are very different things. 'Sides, there's plenty to do in the TARDIS."

"It's an impressive ship," he agrees. "Big." He eyes her, considering how desperate for company this girl must be if she's asking the likes of him along on her adventures. "Lonely."

Rose shakes her head.

"First," she says, "the TARDIS is a 'she.' Not an 'it.' She's sentient—telepathic, even. I can hear her in my head, so it's… Well, yeah. A bit lonely. Jus' not like you're thinking. Listen for a sec." She takes Spike's hand and before he's aware of what she's doing, Rose presses his palm against one of the metallic walls of the ship. He opens his mouth to protest, to tell her to let him the hell go, but the singing in his head has him pulling up short.

"That's the _police box_?"

"It's the TARDIS," Rose says, a laugh in her voice. "S'not a police box—doesn't even always have to look like one. She's got a chameleon circuit, this sorta camouflage thing that changes her appearance to match her surroundings." Rose smiles sadly. "I broke it, so she always looks like this."

"Why would you do somethin' like that?" asks Spike. His voice is softer than it should be, but he can't bring himself to be crass about it when she'd spoken so softly and her eyes had gone just the slightest bit shiny.

It's because she's been taking care of him, he thinks. Because she helped him and trusted him and treats him like a person. Makes him want to prove her right—to act like the person she seems to think he is. Like when Buffy and Dawn started looking at him like a man the year before; he'd begun acting more human, started growing and changing, becoming something he never thought he'd be again. He'd even started to embrace the change towards the end – had stopped fighting it and started actively _trying _to be better.

Then Buffy died and came back, started treating him like an evil thing, and he got so wrapped up in her he neglected Dawn and started losing those pieces of humanity all over again.

He's surprised now to realize that he'd _missed _feeling like something more than a monster.

_When this is done, _he thinks, _I'll have to give the Niblet more of my time. She needs it, and it's healthier for me than playing Buffy's sex bot. _

Rose's voice tears him from his thoughts, and he returns his attention to her.

"The Doctor's TARDIS always looked like a police box," she says. "His was broken, like mine is now. I tried leaving this one like it should be… s'more practical, yeah? But it just didn't feel right."

Spike hadn't noticed when she'd mentioned the name in her story about the Gelth, but he can hear in her voice now, can see in her eyes, that this Doctor bloke was more than just a traveling partner. He'd bet his duster that she loved him, but it's obviously a bit of a sore subject, no matter that it seems she's been alone on this ship for a long time.

Then again, he'd consider Cecily a sore subject, and he can admit now that he didn't even know the woman. Love of any kind isn't something that just goes away.

"It suits her," says Spike, hoping that'll get the haunted look out of her eyes.

It does. She perks up and says, "Oh, definitely. This TARDIS… she's like the daughter of the first. She never really knew the original, but it makes her feel closer to her mum. They're a lot alike, really."

"Sounds like you hear a bit more than singing when you talk to her," says Spike.

"We're close," Rose says simply. "Now, this has been an awful tour so far. Um… come this way. The pool and the video game room are over here. There's a kitchen somewhere, and a wardrobe. An' probably some rooms that weren't here an hour ago. She gets bored, yeah? Takes rooms away and makes new ones as she goes. S'like a game for her."

"This is mad," Spike mumbles as he follows her. "Bloody batshit insane."

"It's brilliant, yeah?"

"I've seen better," he hedges, but he really hasn't and Spike wonders again at how incredible it all is. He really can't describe the feeling of having a hundred and twenty-year-old definition of impossible flipped on its head in the space of a few hours, but it's almost as amazing as it is terrifying.

"Well, if you wanna make a challenge of it," says Rose blithely, "I suppose I'll just have to prove you wrong."

Her eyes sparkle and she grins at him like he wishes Buffy would, and Spike smiles back because he's actually enjoying himself—because he's having fun for the first time in a long time, and he has a feeling Rose hasn't even _begun _to blow his mind.

…

When Rose is finished with the tour, she leads Spike to a cozy living space complete with a flat-screen TV that takes up an entire wall. Spike collapses onto one of the several comfy chairs scattered throughout the room and Rose picks up a remote and takes a seat to his left.

"We've got any show or movie from any planet, over a roughly five million year span. Plus, more channels than you can imagine. What sorta stuff d'you like?" She pauses. "_Other _than violence and gore. Get enough of that in real life."

"This space shit you do is that dangerous?"

"Oh, I've almost died more times than you can imagine," Rose says, like it's not a big deal in the least. "You get used to it after a while. Now, what d'you wanna watch?"

He tries to be imaginative, really he does, but vampires have never exactly been known for their ability to change, and anyway, why mess with perfection?

"I've always had a soft spot for Passions."

Rose arches a brow.

"The… _soap_."

"Hey! It's a good show," says Spike. "S'very… unique."

"Oh, I know _that _well enough. Mum used to watch it all the time. Least it's bad enough to be funny, I s'pose." She grins. "Alright, then. We'll watch Passions."

Spike is surprised she lets him win so easily, but it's the mention of her mother that really shocks him. Rose Tyler doesn't seem like the sort of person who should have a mother, though he supposes she must've. She'd given him a birthdate after all, made it sound like she was human and everything, no matter that he's gotten the impression she's a lot older than she looks. There's probably a story there, a long and complicated one, but he also imagines it's personal and not the sort of thing she'd tell a stray vampire.

Well, and she's a stranger and no one he should care about, so he doesn't see why he'd bother asking anyway.

"S'what I thought," he says, instead of thank you. "And don't put on anything after 2002. I don't want any spoilers."

"Didn't know there was enough plot for there to _be _spoilers."

"I ought to kill you for that. Take out your entrails and hang you with 'em."

Rose bites her lip against laughing, then gives up altogether when Spike gives her his fiercest growl. It should make him feel emasculated or un-demonlike or just plain useless altogether, but there's something about the sound of her laughter, about the look in her eyes and the way she's treating him, that makes it difficult to be offended by her lack of fear.

It's not right, makes the demon in him snarl in irritation, but the man is in complete control for once, and Spike lets a smile reach his eyes, if not his face, as he settles in to watch his show.

…

He must fall asleep watching Passions because a different episode is on when he wakes up and Rose has disappeared. He takes a moment to stretch muscles still stiff from Buffy's beating—he'll need blood to get the last of that to go away, he imagines, no matter what sort of fancy alien equipment Rose has used on him—and gets to his feet, intent on finding his maybe-human hostess.

Spike follows her scent for a while, but it leads him to the room with the coral struts he vaguely remembers from the night he was hurt. Now he sees that it's a control room, with all sorts of handles and buttons around a main console. He studies it for a moment, tempted to press things and see what they do, then decides it's a stupid idea even for him and heads back in the direction he came. Rose probably slipped off to get him blood like she mentioned the day before, and he might as well entertain himself while she's out. Doesn't think she'll mind too much. She didn't seem overly upset when she found him in the library yesterday.

The library. The thought of the room brings a stupid, very un-demonic smile to his face. It'd certainly held the most magnificent collection of books he's seen in his unlife. Hundreds of unfamiliar titles, but Rose seems to have a soft spot for Earth books from around the twentieth century because there'd been a lot he recognized as well. He'd glimpsed some of the Dickens she'd mentioned, but it was the poetry collection that truly caught his interest. Volumes upon volumes of the stuff, all early editions in pristine condition.

Now that he has time, the idea of examining some of the books more closely is too tempting for the William in him to ignore. The demon calls him a ponce when it senses the direction of his thoughts, but it's almost shockingly easy to ignore it and convince himself to head to the library anyway. He doesn't know if it's the time spent chatting with Rose and being treated so well or if it has something to do with the demon being appeased at the notion of killing aliens, but reconciling the separate parts of his personality is easier than he remembers it being _ever._

The thought puts him in a good enough mood that he sings to himself as he searches for the library (Here Comes the Sun, ridiculously enough, which manages to piss of the demon no matter how compliant it's being). He manages to find the magnificent room after turning only a handful of corners and wonders whether the TARDIS is making things easier on him or if it's in the same place it was before and he's just going a little barmy.

He decides not to think too much into it because trying to make sense of the TARDIS seems like the sort of thing that'd drive him off the deep end, instead pushing the matter from his mind in favor of making a beeline for the poetry section. Some of the books aren't in any language he's ever heard of – and he's got a few human and even more demon dialects under his belt – but there are more than enough options to keep him busy. He runs a hand over the spines of a handful before pulling out a hard-backed collection of Poe's works, shaking his head when he opens to the front cover and finds a line of handwritten script reading, '_For__ an Impossible Rose' _

"'Course she's met bloody Poe," Spike mutters as he runs his hand over the writing. He's tempted to leave the volume where it is, the William in him worried he'll somehow ruin it, but Spike fights the poncy notion and takes the book off to a table to peruse. He likes Poe, knows the man's writing like the back of his hand. William hadn't been his biggest fan—had thought his themes too unpleasant—but the combination of violence and good literature strongly appealed to him as a vampire. Angelus himself had gone through a brief Poe phase once, after he'd gotten hold of a copy of his short stories_._ Thepoofter had appreciated the balance of suffering and artistry and had been especially fond of _The Pit and the Pendulum. _

"I grew frantically mad, and struggled to force myself upward against the sweep of the fearful scimitar," Spike recites blithely, eyes dancing over the passage.

"Good memories?"

Spike almost jumps out of his seat when he realizes Rose has somehow managed to sneak up on him. He opens his mouth, intending to defend himself so that she doesn't cast him from her TARDIS in disgust, before he realizes that he doesn't _need to _offer up defense of any sort. A brow is raised and her expression is mildly disproving, but there's curiosity in her eyes and not a trace of anger on her face.

He relaxes, just a little.

"Not especially. I'm sure my grandsire tried something similar at some point, but I would've gotten bored and wandered off before he could get very far." He pauses, then goes on casually, "Even at my worst, I was never much a fan of the torture bit. I liked fighting, gettin' my blood flowing. Not beating on weaklings who wilted after a single blow."

She tilts her head and studies him, and Spike is just about to try a subject change when she says, "You're different, aren't you? Not like what vampires are supposed to be."

It isn't anything he hasn't heard before, but she doesn't say it like it's a bad thing, like the other demons and vampires do, like even the Scoobies have on occasion. She says it like it means something special, something amazing. He knows it's not true, knows he's as defective as a vamp as he'd been as a human (_From childhood's hour I have not been/As others were; I have not seen/As others saw; I could not bring/My passions from a common spring, _his inner William recites somewhat amusedly, probably because he's still got Poe spinning through his head), but Rose's words warm him anyway.

Away from everyone's expectations that he be evil and under the nonjudgmental gaze of this woman who apparently thinks he's worth something, he's forgetting the identity he's supposed to have. He's a monster and now he's thinking maybe he can be something different, and Spike needs to _stop_, wants to stop—really, he does, because vampires shouldn't want to change—because every time this happened with Buffy and the Scoobies, he wound up bitterly disappointed. It never works, _can _never work. Will only bring him more pain when he bungles it up.

He takes an unnecessary breath and crosses his arms over his chest, trying not to let his mask fall. "Yeah, well. S'cause I'm better than those poofters."

"I'd have to agree," Rose replies. He blinks, wondering at her thoughtless acceptance of his statement when he himself had been posturing to move the conversation along, but she goes right on talking like her words weren't the least bit significant. "I stopped by New Earth—they've got technology to create blood, so I didn't feel bad nicking some from their hospitals. Well, wouldn't have felt bad nicking from _their _hospitals either way, but that's beside the point. You hungry?"

There's a story there, but he imagines there's a story in every other thing she says and he knows he can't ask about them all.

"Feelin' a little peckish, yeah. A bit of blood will probably take away the last of the bruising, too. Wager I'll be all fixed up by tomorrow."

"Good," says Rose. "Where'd you like to go, anyway? Another planet? Or just another time? Ancient Rome's interesting, and so is New Greece. Midnight's a nice place, but… well, no. Midnight wouldn't work—it's sunny all the time. Forgot that'd be a consideration. Tunglia doesn't have a sun at all, but rather a system of moons that its people use to reflect generated light. It's all beaches too, so s'like a whole planet of moonlit beaches. Um… Satellite Five has potential, and that's vamp friendly, or if y'want we could go t' the Middle Ages and stir up some excitement. There's also-"

"Pet?" Spike cuts in. "Sounds like you know more about this than I do. Why don't you just take me somewhere nice?"

"Sorry." She looks embarrassed, and he's shocked to find he thinks it's cute. "The Doctor always babbled like that, and John used to do it too. Drove me mad, but I guess it's rubbed off. Serves me right for complaining, I guess."

"John?" Spike asks before he can really think better of it.

"My husband," says Rose. She holds up her left hand, and for the first time he notices she's wearing a wedding ring. "He was… more human than I am. Could only last so long."

He's right, then. She's lived a long time. Married a bloke who died much earlier. Spike shuffles his feet uncomfortably and mutters, "Can't say I know what it's like, losing a loved from old age. But I understand about people only lastin' so long."

Rose lets the show of empathy sink in a moment. Doesn't say a word, but her silence is grateful and Spike thinks for once, he might've said the right thing. The tentative thought is confirmed when she opens her eyes again and gives him a bittersweet smile that isn't as sad as it might've been.

"How old are you, Spike?"

"Been a vamp for a hundred and twenty four years. Was a human twenty four before that."

"Didn't figure you'd be much younger than that. You can see in a person's eyes, y'know. How long they've lived."

"What about you? How many years are in your eyes?"

Rose shrugs. "I honestly don't know. Started traveling in this TARDIS when I was around fifty… s'probably been another fifty years since then, at least. Spending so much time in the Time Vortex makes it hard to tell." A shake of her head. "Not important, anyway. Figure I'm not gettin' any older, so what's the point in checking?"

"Vamps like bragging about it," says Spike. "Sorta like a testament to competence. You live a hundred years, it means you're smart enough to survive that long."

"Yeah?" says Rose. She thinks on it a moment, but dismisses his words with a shrug. "Makes sense, but it takes more than years to prove competence, y'know?"

"Like that bullshit quote 'bout the life in your years bein' more important than the years in your life?"

Rose smiles.

"Something like that." They reach the kitchen and she hands him a bag of blood. He starts looking around for a microwave to warm it up in, but she takes out that funny metal cylinder she'd had in the infirmary and buzzes the bag with it, heating the liquid instantly. Spike shoots her a smile as he seats himself at the table. Takes a drink, then gets back to their conversation.

"I can understand that. Can't say I like it, though. Vamps don't generally do much with their lives. A kill here, a shag there. Mayhem and evil in between."

"Most vamps," Rose agrees. "But… what you said before, when you were still in the infirmary. That made it sound like you've been trying to change, to do more. I can't imagine you've accomplished _nothing." _

"Really haven't." Letting Buffy fall to her death in that fight against Glory is suddenly at the forefront of his mind. The one chance for him to make something of his unlife, and he wasn't good enough to follow through. He doesn't count helping Buffy with Acathla; that'd been all her. He'd left early, had broken his end of the deal in doing so and had lost the right to claim direct involvement in that one. "Not enough, anyway."

"So long as there's more to be done, everything you've accomplished to that point isn't enough," says Rose seriously, and it's almost disconcerting, seeing all those hidden years suddenly apparent on her face. "S'what John told me once, although I think believing something like that might be an excuse to keep running. Y'know, like a front, so you can constantly avoid the past and make yourself feel heroic while doing it."

"I wouldn't know," says Spike. "Not much for heroics. More a villain, myself."

"I dunno about that. A dangerous, handsome vampire with an ugly past, changing his tune and trying to save the day in the name of love? If you ask me, I'd say you're at least antihero material."

He's a bit disconcerted at her observation. Honestly, he's fancied himself the dashing antihero before, when he was getting tortured for Dawn and on-and-off when he was helping Buffy leading up to her death. He's not sure if the title is actually something he has much right to anymore though, so he chooses not to think on it too much. Goes for lightening the mood instead.

"Y'know stories with vampire antiheroes are always a bit trashy. Blood play and porn and more sex than substance." He curls his tongue—in the erotic way, and not the cute Rose Tyler way—and chuckles. "That how you think of me, luv?"

Rose rolls her eyes, cheeks not going the least bit pink. Right. Rose isn't one of the Scoobies—is probably much too old to blush over just anything.

"Bit full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Let's just say I've gotten good feedback." He ignores the fact that he's not being entirely honest. He's had three 'real' relationships over the past hundred and twenty years, and none of them have left him feeling much like a sex god. Dru cheated on him constantly, with Angelus more often than not, so it wasn't like he could claim to have kept her fully satisfied. Harmony was after that, and while she obviously enjoyed herself, Spike is pretty sure she could get off on dry-humping a fire hydrant.

Then there's Buffy. And yeah, she keeps coming back, but he's honestly not sure if she likes the sex or if she isn't more attracted to the pain; really, it feels like she's using him to punish herself, and looking back and viewing the situation with a bit of perspective… well, it sure as hell doesn't say much for his _prowess. _

Good feedback his shiny pale ass.

"Maybe you're right," says Rose with a laugh, and he forces himself to focus on her. On her smile, on her voice, instead of the ugly Buffy-related thoughts that he can't seem to get out of his head. "You've certainly got the personality down."

"Hey! I've got more _depth _than a sex novel vampire," Spike argues, albeit a bit halfheartedly.

"Sorry," she says cheekily, but she must see that something about the subject is a sore point for him, because she makes a point of switching topics. "Anyway, I was thinking we could go to Caligo Major. It's a swamp planet, always cloudy an' with no direct sunlight, so you won't have to worry about that. Lots of nasties too, which is good 'cause I figured you'd want some violence. 4900 would be a good year; I think there's a bit of political turmoil going on around then, so something exciting should come up."

Spike smirks at the prospect. "Is that what you do, pet? Go looking for trouble?"

"Not usually, no. Trouble generally finds me anyway, but I don't make a habit of running straight into it." She gives him one of her shining smiles. "This time is an exception. I figured I'd seek out something a vampire would like. Make it fun for you, since it's your only trip and all."

Right. Feeding his need for violence, catering to the vampire while appeasing William with books and kindness.

It's like he's found heaven in a police box.

"Right then," he says gruffly. Still won't thank her. Can't let himself sink quite so low (or is it rise quite so high?). "Sounds good."

"C'mon," says Rose. "We can watch a bit more telly, let you rest a bit. I'll need a few hours of sleep too. Then we'll head to Caligo once we're at a hundred percent."

He downs the last of his blood and gets up to follow her, nearly tripping over his feet when her fingers slide almost automatically through his own. His eyes dart over to her, and Rose looks just as surprised as he does. For a long moment, she stares at their joined hands with sadness and shock and probably a bit more emotion than the simple gesture warrants.

"Sorry," she says, and she gives him his hand back. Spike pretends not to notice how cold it suddenly feels. "Habit."

"S'fine." She doesn't acknowledge him at all, just peers forward with hollow eyes, and Spike can't help but prod her with an elbow and ask, "You alright?"

Rose's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"I'm always alright."

Fuck that, the demon wants to spit. Tell me about it, William wants to urge.

But Spike isn't as callous as the demon or as sappy as William, so he shrugs and accepts her words at face value.

Rose isn't his problem. After all, just one trip, and he'll never see her again.

…

**A/N: **

**Thanks for the support so far. Please tell me what you think of the new chapter. **


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